32: THE QUARRY
(Kihrin’s story)
I had no idea where they took us, only its name: the Quarry. For a race notoriously fond of green, living things, I didn’t think a name suggesting a hole in the ground was a good sign.
We ended up in a circle at the end of a long marble hallway. “This way,” a soldier said, before the royal guards half escorted, half carried us to a doorway. Most of the soldiers then left, leaving behind two guards for each of us.
This was the lightest our guard had been since our capture.
A soldier opened the door. “Step inside, please.”
A cushioned room lay beyond. Not cushions on the floor—the entire room was padded.
Teraeth kicked the door guard in the throat, while using momentum to yank his arms from another guard’s grip. It seemed a shame to waste the opening, so I slumped down and turned invisible. Surprised, a soldier released my arm. I punched him in the groin, then stole the water from the other guard’s lungs (I’d learned the trick from Tyentso), and claimed his sword. Janel threw her guards into the wall, where they struck the marble to the sickening melody of cracking stone. Thurvishar’s soldiers tripped over their own feet and fell sprawling.
“Come on. Let’s see if we—” But I never heard Teraeth finish the sentence.
Without warning, everything turned black.
I woke to find myself slumped in a comfortable chair. My clothing and equipment had been replaced by a simple gray cloth tunic and drawstring pants. My feet were bare. Also, my jaw hurt, probably because I’d hit myself on the marble floor when I’d fallen unconscious.
I wasn’t tied up. I wasn’t shackled. Teraeth, Janel, and Thurvishar were there, similarly attired, starting to wake.
As far as I could tell, we’d been taken to a palace.
Gold and gray threaded the white marble walls. Breathtaking murals and bas-relief filigree covered the cupola over our heads. Intricate stonework lace covered the windows but still allowed light to spill through. The view in the distance suggested trees and beautiful vistas. I heard birds singing.
Not far from where we sat, someone had laid out a banquet table, covered in white silk. On that banquet table—
My eyes widened.
Roasted meats trimmed with vegetables cut to look like flowers. Dark red pomegranate glazes covered succulent game birds. Rice cooked with saffron and precious herbs. Stuffed dumplings shaped like rare animals. Whole salmons, sharks, and sturgeons steamed and then garnished with spices layered to look like scales, jeweled with caviar beads. Tarts of every description, oysters, soups, stews, baked breads, and cakes piled high. Perfectly ripe fruits and fine wines sparkled gemlike next to steaming trays of fragrant tea.
A man stepped before us.
A vané man, of course. Kirpis vané specifically, with pale skin and shifting blue-green cloudcurl hair. His eyes were mismatched—one blue, one green. He was also the most muscled vané I’d ever seen, opting to forgo the typical vané preference for thin and lithe.
He was still pretty, though. Rebellion has its limits.
“Welcome to the Quarry,” the vané man said. “I’m your host, Rindala. I’m here to make your stay as comfortable as possible. If you have any concerns, don’t hesitate to come to me.”
I blinked. Quur didn’t have many prisons as a rule. Criminals were either fined, executed, or sold into slavery. The exceptions weren’t nice places. They weren’t nice places at all.
“Nice to meet you, Rindala, but I have to ask: Are we in the right place?” I looked around. I didn’t see any soldiers. It was unnerving.
“Oh yes,” Rindala said. “Unfortunately so. Obviously, we can’t allow you to leave, but that’s no reason to make your stay unpleasant. The Quarry’s goals aren’t punishment. I always make sure everyone enjoys their stay.”
“What happened?” Janel rubbed her eyes. “What knocked us unconscious?”
“Sleep gas,” Rindala answered. “We prefer to administer it when you’re not in a position to injure yourselves, but you lot were stubborn. I find the intake process so much less humiliating when new prisoners are unconscious for the experience. Please, enjoy the food. You must be hungry.”
Teraeth took the first bite, so to speak, sitting down at the table and helping himself to several dishes. He ate with enthusiasm before looking up at Rindala. “This is phenomenal. I commend your skills.”
Our host smiled with pride. “Thank you. I made sure to include Quuros dishes.” He motioned to the rest of us, who hadn’t started eating. “We’ve never had Quuros guests before in the Quarry.”
I studied the amazing spread. “You cooked all this?”
“I created this, yes,” Rindala admitted. “Banquets are a personal specialty.”
“He’s a dreammaker,” Teraeth said. “You might as well eat.”
“Yes, please,” Rindala said. “I want you to enjoy yourselves.”
Thurvishar sat down and began eating. He didn’t seem to be enjoying the food, though. He lifted a forkful of beautifully golden rice and critically watched it fall. “You actually like this?” he asked Teraeth.
“Ah now. Why are you making this so difficult?” Rindala asked Thurvishar. “This is a great honor. My services have been commanded by royalty.”
Thurvishar turned to us. “It’s just porridge. This isn’t real.”
“How is enjoyment not ‘real’?” Rindala asked. “If you can taste it, smell it, touch it, see it, hear it? If it satiates you, body and soul, how isn’t it real?” He paused. “But you’re actively blocking me. I’d much rather you enjoyed yourself.”
“The food isn’t real?” I could smell it. I could see the steam rising from the plates, juices flowing from meats. I was salivating.
“Oh no,” Teraeth said. “The food is real. Haerunth. It’s a grain the Kirpis developed. Incredibly nutritious. You can survive on haerunth alone indefinitely. Most Kirpis do.” He continued eating. “Honestly, I’d never guess this wasn’t traditionally cooked. You’re fantastic, Rindala. I hope they’re paying enough.”
“His Majesty is generous,” Rindala admitted, “but your appreciation of my skills warms my heart.”
I couldn’t tell if Teraeth was laying it on so thick because he wanted to cozy up to Rindala or if he was sincere. Finally, I sighed and sat down to eat. Janel did as well.
“Oh, sweet fields,” Janel murmured after biting into a tart. “I think this might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
Rindala beamed.
I decided Teraeth had understated his praise. The venison was perfectly tender, so flavorful. Each dish I tried tasted better than the last. Teraeth, Janel, and I began comparing dishes, suggesting new ones to each other.
Thurvishar ate his rice, a child who’d been told he couldn’t leave the table until he cleaned his plate.1
As I enjoyed what was without question the most delicious meal I’d ever eaten, I considered our situation. Which wasn’t great, even if Rindala seemed nice.
“Rindala?” I asked.
“Yes, Your Highness?” Rindala rushed over to me immediately.
“The king told you who I am?”
“Ah yes,” Rindala said. “My sincerest condolences on the execution. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. I’m rooting for you.”
“… thank you,” I replied. His weaponized sincerity was a little off-putting. “Would you mind telling me about the prison itself? Can we expect to be housed together? Will there be guards?” I had certain expectations for guards in prisons. Not good expectations.
The other three at the table slowed their eating as they listened.
“Oh, naturally there are guards,” Rindala said, “and you’ll be housed separately.” He nodded to everyone. “It’s for your protection.”
“Right. Naturally.” I leaned toward him. “I wonder if you might indulge me. If it wouldn’t cause any trouble for you. Just in case it does come to that, and they execute me, it would mean the world if I could spend my last days with my lover. You understand.”
“Oh,” Rindala said. “Yes, I see. I assume someone here is that lucky person? Which one?” The vané looked at the other three people sitting at the table.
“The woman,” I said.
“Then worry not, Your Highness. I’ll make sure she stays with you.”
I nodded to him. “Your kindness is appreciated.”
As I turned back to eating, I noticed Janel and Teraeth both slaying me with proverbial daggers.
“Seriously?” Teraeth whispered.
“It’s not what you think.” Which it wasn’t. As much as I’d have loved to spend time with Janel, I’d never heard of a prison where the people in power didn’t abuse the people without it. Rindala seemed nice enough—too nice, creepy nice—but that’s because I knew this wasn’t a spectacular hotel. One friendly warden (or concierge, or dreammaker, or whatever) didn’t convince me the prison guards would be so altruistic.
We were all in danger, but the Quuros seemed especially vulnerable, and Janel most vulnerable of all. Since she found her souls locked in the Afterlife once she slept, Janel wouldn’t wake no matter what someone did to her in the meantime.
Which made me wonder. How did her body know when to wake up again? Did some portion of her souls remain behind? Could she be tricked with an illusion? Of course, the illusions here were extraordinary. Everyone in the Manol seemed to automatically know how to cast fantastic illusions. So good. It had to make navigating the cities awkward, though. How did you know if a bridge really existed? What if nothing was real? Would I even notice?
What was I talking about again?
“Are those sesame cakes?” Thurvishar asked. “I love sesame cakes.” The wizard grabbed three cakes at once and began to eat.
Janel swayed in her seat and blinked.
I looked down at my plate. With effort, I tore my thoughts away from contemplating how the vané created the magnificent sheen on their ceramics. “They drugged the food?”
“Of course they drugged the food,” Teraeth agreed, smiling blissfully. “Drugged it to the gills.”
“As I said, Your Highness,” an increasingly blurry Rindala told me, “everyone here always enjoys their stay.”